


On Flowery Beds of Ease

by learningthetrees



Category: Slow West (2015)
Genre: Hurt, Whump, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 14:10:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/learningthetrees/pseuds/learningthetrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silas had changed in hundreds of ways over the past five years. He’d felt it — the hardness creeping into his heart until he barely recognized the boy he’d once been. He’d had no qualms about stealing what he needed, keeping himself alive during his travels across the west. He thought he was a different man, made for this world, and yet each night, he closed his eyes and saw them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Flowery Beds of Ease

**Author's Note:**

> As requested by anon and brogers86 on Tumblr, here is hurt!Silas. I also couldn't resist getting in a little of his backstory...I hope you like it!

A punch to the stomach, and he doubled over.

 _Should have seen that coming_.

“What were you thinking, kid?” But before Silas could catch his breath to answer, he was pummeled again. Hand cradling his crushed rib, Silas looked up at his attacker, a man close to own age called Handsome Jack. Silas had always assumed the name was ironic. Handsome Jack’s not-so-handsome countenance was twisted into a derisive sneer. “What did you think was gonna happen? You thought you could just steal from us and split?”

“Worth a try,” Silas said. His ribs ached with each shallow breath he drew.

“Always with the damn lip.” And another one stepped forward — the bald man known only as Leftie. “I’m sick of it, boy.” He folded the fingers of his left hand into a fist with a smirk. “I’m gonna enjoy this.”

Leftie pulled back his fist, preparing to strike, and Silas felt himself tense up, screwing his eyes closed and anticipating where the blow would land. There was a moment of heavy silence, then —

“What’s this?”

The crowd of desperadoes parted, and Silas looked up to see Payne surveying the scene. He never raised his voice — never had to. All he had to do was utter a single word, and everyone would fall silent, ready to do what he said without a moment of hesitation. It was unnerving.

Sometimes, it was downright chilling.

“You know what this one’s planning on doing?” That was Skelly. The disgust in his tone hurt a little — out of all of them, Silas had hated Skelly the least.

Payne’s eyes shot to Silas, clear and interested. “What?”

Handsome Jack tossed the sack Silas had stuffed with as many provisions as he could at Payne’s feet. The loot spilled out. “Stealin’ from us and takin’ off,” Handsome Jack said.

Payne hadn’t taken his eyes from Silas’s. “That true?”

Any clever retort died on his tongue. Silas jerked his chin up and down.

Payne pursed his lips, considering it. “Why?”

Silas found his voice. “You know why.”

Payne chuckled. “That really bothered you, huh?”

“They were innocent,” Silas said, and he could still see it, just as vividly as if it was happening in front of him. The gang descending on a traveling settler family, grabbing all the supplies they could, pointing guns, striking fear. The man who had resisted, trying to shield his family. The piercing echo of the gunshot that struck him dead. The smoking gun in Payne’s hand. “There were kids.” The wide, hungry eyes of the three children, watching as they were left with nothing.

Payne lifted an eyebrow. “You gone soft?”

Silas had changed in hundreds of ways over the past five years. He’d felt it — the hardness creeping into his heart until he barely recognized the boy he’d once been. He’d had no qualms about stealing what he needed, keeping himself alive during his travels across the west. He thought he was a different man, made for this world, and yet each night, he closed his eyes and saw them. The people they’d left behind. The guilt would bubble up his throat like bile, the far-off laughter of his companions grating against his ears. With each night that passed, he came closer to a new conclusion: He wasn’t like them.

Now, Payne took a few slow steps towards him. The rest of the gang was still and silent, waiting with bated breath to see what punishment would befall Silas. When Payne was only a few inches away, he halted, lifting his hand. It took all Silas had in him not to flinch. Payne traced a finger lightly down Silas’s cheek. Then he clicked his tongue with a _tssk_.

“’s a wonder you made it this long,” he said, his voice hushed. “No scars, no scratches.” He leaned closer — so close, Silas could smell the tobacco on his breath. “They’ll eat you alive.”

And then he was gone, turning on his heel, thick coat flapping behind him as he strode away. Payne looked over his shoulder, speaking to the others so Silas could hear him: “As you were.”

Leftie cracked his knuckles and then, before Silas could even move to step out of the way, the man’s massive fist was colliding with his jaw. The force of it was enough to knock him to the ground. His breath shot painfully out of his lungs as he landed on his back, a spurt of blood spraying from his mouth. Then a boot dug into his side, jabbing between his ribs, and Silas bit down on his lip to keep from letting out a yell.

He rolled over, trying to protect his middle, but a searing pain tore through his right side, nearly paralyzing him. He spluttered, the side of his face pressed into the dirt, and he watched as a pair of scuffed boots approached. He let out a shaky breath as the figure drew closer.

“Leave him,” a voice called, and the boots stopped advancing. The voice sounded like it belonged to Skelly. “Scum’s not worth it.”

But the words went unheeded, because there was one last blow to Silas’s head, and this one was a relief. Blackness and absence of pain followed.

 

* * *

 

He came to with a breath that stabbed between his ribs like a barb. He shuddered as his eyes snapped open, seeing nothing but darkness above him. The sun had set. Wispy gray clouds hung in the black sky. An owl hooted somewhere.

Other than that, he was alone.

Silas touched a hand to his side and hissed. At least one, if not all, of his ribs was certainly broken. He tried to take a deep breath but was immediately punished with a sharp spasm in his side. A muttered curse slipped from his lips.

After mentally preparing himself for a few minutes, Silas sat up, hand pressed to his ribs to try to stymie the pain. It didn’t work — his side was aflame. He took stock of himself otherwise: His gun was gone, as was his sack of provisions. _Of course_. They weren’t going to kill him — they were just going to leave him to die. He could have laughed if the simple act of breathing wasn’t excruciating. It heartened him a little to feel the hilt of his hunting knife still in his boot, although he wasn’t sure how much good it would do him.

 _You can’t sit here forever_ , he told himself, but it took a few repetitions to fully convince himself. Finally, and with a massive groan, he struggled to his feet. There was a thick forest behind him, the one the gang had just worked their way through. Ahead of him was a flat expanse of plain, the darkened ground bleeding into the darkened sky. He glanced over his shoulder, considering his choices. Head alone and unarmed into a forest where anything or anyone could be waiting to ambush him? Or start across the plain where he would be easily spotted for miles? Neither idea was appealing, but Silas would rather know if someone was trailing him. He pressed against his ribs, grimacing, and headed into the flat darkness.

After a little ways, Silas noticed the telltale plume of smoke trailing into the sky. He slowed his pace, listening. He didn’t hear the raucous sound of chatter and drunken laughter that always accompanied Payne’s gang — instead, there was just the low chirp of crickets. He reached down, his side throbbing, and slid the knife from his boot.

Clutching the knife at his side, Silas crept forward. A small orange flame came into view, a campfire trying not to be seen. And as he got closer, Silas saw a figure that was likewise trying not to be seen. Crouching on the ground, leaning forward, arms wrapped around itself — Silas recognized all the signs of a vulnerable creature.

His foot landed on a twig, snapping it with a resounding _crack_ in the otherwise silence. The figure’s head turned in an instant, and Silas found himself staring at a young woman, maybe no older than him. A sheet of dark hair hung around her gaunt face, her lip quivering. Even in the low firelight, he could clearly see the pain in her eyes. And in that moment, he recognized her.

He’d seen her before — watching after them as they’d left her and her children to die.

“Are you all right?” Her eyes flitted over him, but she didn’t say anything. Already, Silas was overwhelmed by the possibilities of what could have happened to leave her alone and afraid like this. Where were the children?

“Look —” Silas started to set down the knife, but the moment he moved, so did the woman. She leapt up and lunged at him, hitting him square in the chest and knocking him backward. He fell, the blow against his ribs sending a burst of pain through his entire body as he let out an involuntary shout. The woman grasped his wrist, digging in her nails until he let go of the knife and she grasped it in a shaking hand. She pressed her elbow into his throat and pointed the knife at him.

He struggled to draw breath, watching as she shuddered, the knife trembling in her hold. Silas didn’t blame her for hating him. He hadn’t stopped them, after all.

“Do it,” he managed to gasp.

But the woman wrenched her arm away, relinquishing him and collapsing onto the ground a few feet away. Silas struggled to his feet, his wound erupting in anguish again. He watched her warily, ready to fend her off if she lunged again, but she didn’t get up. Instead, she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up to her chest. Silas heard a soft sob.

As he looked at the broken woman on the ground before him, Silas felt that familiar stirring of guilt. The one that had wracked him over the last few weeks and ultimately led to a broken rib or two.

Feeling was what had gotten him here, near dead. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He stepped over the woman, scooped up the knife, and continued on into the darkness.

He’d never make that mistake again.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at [ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com](http://www.ask-learningthetrees.tumblr.com)!


End file.
